


Price of Safety

by Nevermore_red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Identity Issues, Tourney at the Vale, book canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 10:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11942538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore_red/pseuds/Nevermore_red
Summary: Sandor makes the same offer once again. Sansa thinks she might be willing to pay whatever the price is for his help.





	Price of Safety

Alayne sat in bored silence as her father welcomed each of the Lords and Knights that had come for the tournament. Randa had been overly excited about the tournament, and truth be told so was Alayne. Not this part, though. This was just boring. Her life lately had been nothing but boring. She was growing tired of it. The tournament had promised a break from the monotony. New people to meet, new men to look at and flirt with. It would be fun once all the formalities were out of the way.

In her bored state, looking aimlessly out at the crowed, a man caught her attention. He was tall, quite a bit more so than all of the others, and broad. He wore tarnished looking armor and his helmet fully obscured his face. Looking at him caused a warmth to fill her belly even though she couldn’t see his face. He may well be hideous, but the sheer size of him was enough to thrill her. It also tugged at something in her memory. A part she no longer visited outside of dreams, a person she no longer considered herself being. Her survival depended on it. Alayne quickly looked away from the knight, not wanting to be reminded. Her eyes, however, didn’t seem to want to leave him and kept traveling back to his figure time and again. With his helmet she couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed as if he were looking back at her as well.

Her father standing to close the opening formalities caused her to jump and she tore her eyes away from the knight to look up at her father.

“I thank you all for coming.” Petyr said. “The games will begin on the marrow. A feast will be held in the great hall in your honor this evening. Everyone is welcome to attend. I wish you all good fortune and good luck.”

After leaving with her father, Alayne went to the great hall to make certain things were set up like her father had requested. Tonight she wouldn’t sit at the high table with her father and the other Lords of the Vale. She would sit with Randa and Mya further down the room some ways. A bastard daughter was no permitted at the high table, which suited Alayne just fine.

Once the great hall was finished, she went up to her room to change her gown and refix her hair. Randa had said she should wear a low cut gown to show off her breasts so as to entice the men around them a little. She chose one of her nicer dresses that had a fairly low bodice and once she was satisfied with her hair, she made her way down to the now overly full great hall. She stopped at the high table to greet her father, he placed a chaste kiss on her cheek that made her skin crawl like all of his kisses, no matter how innocent, made her feel. As she made her way to her table, she scanned the bustling room for her large knight, but didn’t see anyone who could possibly be him.

The feast was quite entertaining. She and Randa and Mya laughed and drank and ate and flirted with the men close to them. After her third glass of arbor, Alayne was feeling far too warm in the stifling great hall. With a polite excuse to the man that had been talking with her, she got up and made her way out to the court yard. There was no one there, other than herself, and she took a deep breath of the cold air. She always welcomed the cold. It made her feel…home, though that was a dangerous thing to think. Her father was always on her to wear warmer dresses or put on a cloak, but Alayne reveled in the chill. It was the single small concession she made to the girl she had once been. Moving further out into the dark courtyard, she lightly wrapped her arms around herself and looked up at the dark sky.

“You’ll catch your death out here, girl.” A rasping voice came from the shadows, and Alayne jumped in surprise before whirling around in the direction the voice came. She couldn’t see much, but just vaguely made out his outline a few feet away. It was her large knight and his voice niggled something in her mind but she resolutely pushed it away.

“I’m used to the cold.” She assured him. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“No.” he mumbled. “I suppose it wouldn’t.”

She thought to ask him what he meant by that, but decided against it.

“Are you looking forward to the tournament tomorrow, Ser?” she asked instead and the man snorted.

“Ser.” He barked a short laugh. “Still just a bird chirping your courtesies.”

Alayne froze, memories threatening to pour out of the carefully locked box she kept them in. Her heart rate kicked up slightly, her chest rising and falling quickly.

“You…” she trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“Yes.” He stepped closer. “Me. You know who I am, don’t you little bird?”

“No.” she shook her head, but was unable to step away. “No. I don’t know you, Ser. My name is Alayne Stone. I’m afraid you have me mistaken for someone else.”

“Horseshit.” He stepped even closer and Alayne quickly looked away from his face that was coming into view and stared at his chest instead. “You could never pass for a bastard. You hold yourself like a Lady. And this shitty hair would only fool a blind man.” He reached out and picked up a piece of her loose brown hair, rubbing it between his fingers before throwing it over her shoulder with a grunt of disgust.

“What does fucking Littlefinger think he’s doing, anyway?”

“My…My father…”

“Enough of the lies, girl.” He snapped, cutting her off. “The cunt isn’t your father and you’re no bastard.” He grasped her shoulders and pulled her closer to him, lifting just slightly so she was forced to go on tiptoe. She still couldn’t bring her eyes to his face. If she saw what her mind was telling her she would find there, Alayne knew she would no longer be able to forget. To pretend.

“Look at me!” he shook her shoulders just once and Alayne let out a shaking sob before lifting first her chin, and then her eyes to look upon his face. The sob broke in her throat and she was overwhelmed with the onslaught of emotions and memories.

“You.” She whispered.

“Yes, it’s me.” He squeezed her shoulders just a little harder, almost to the point of pain. “And who are you, girl?”

It took her several false starts and a few deep breaths before she could find her voice. And the truth.

“Sansa.” She whispered. “Sansa Stark.”

“There.” He released her shoulders but didn’t move away from her. “Now, tell me what you’re doing here with the dirty old cunt and what he’s done to you.”

It was as if a wall had broken down when she admitted who she really was and with it spilled forth every other truth. She told him everything. Ser Dontos. Joffrey. Running with Petyr. How he was using her. The unwelcomed touches and unfatherly kisses.

“I thought you were dead.” Sansa finally said after she’d purged everything. “Someone said you were terrorizing the Saltpans and that you’d been killed.”

“I nearly did die. Probably did a few times. A group of silent brothers found me, brought me back. The fucker in the Saltpans wasn’t me. Just some cunt that stole my hounds helm.”

“Oh.” Sansa breathed, remembering how disproportionately upset she had been upon hearing of his death.

“Listen.” He knelt down a little so he was closer to her face. “I asked you once to come with me, to let me save you. I’m asking it of you again. And this is the last time, girl. I won’t be back. You’ll be done with me if you decline.”

Sansa stayed silent for a long while, simply staring up at his face. She remembered how at one time looking upon him frightened and disgusted her. His scars were still grotesque. There was nothing redeeming about his face. It was harsh and ugly even despite the scars. His eyes, though. She remembered quite clearly how crazed his eyes looked, how they swirled with righteous anger and made him look almost unhinged at times. Now, though. Now there was something different in them. The anger was still there, an ingrained part of the man before her, but the grey of his eyes seemed warmer. More controlled. They called to memory her father’s eyes, her real father. Mayhap he really could keep her safe, unlike her father.

“And what do you want from me in return?” she asked. She was no longer so naïve. Men didn’t do things for women like her out of the kindness of their chivalrous hearts. There was a price to be paid.

“What is it the Ladies of your songs pay their knights in shining armor?” he asked, a hand reaching up to take her hair once again. “A kiss, is it?”

Sansa remembered the last time he’d kissed her. How harsh and cruel his lips had felt pressed into her own. She also remembered how she’d imagined them feeling in her dreams, when she’d tried in vain to picture the Knight of Flowers.

“A kiss?” she asked. “That’s all you want?”

“No, little bird.” He smirked. “That’s not all I want. But I’ll not take from you what you aren’t willing to give. Your family is dead. Your home is no longer your own. You have nowhere to go. I can take you with me. We can sail to Braavos or Pentos. Hells, we can even go to Volantis for all I care. Just so long as it’s not here.”

Sansa thought about what he was offering. It did sound nice, leaving this place. Only, she couldn’t imagine never going home again. Never seeing Winterfell when it’s what she longed for. But, he was also right. Winterfell was no longer hers. There was no one there to make it home any longer. Her parents were dead, her brothers, more than likely Arya as well. The only family she had left was Jon Snow and he’d sworn himself to a new family. There was nothing left for her here any longer.

“Alright.” She finally said. “I’ll go with you.”

He looked momentarily shocked by her assent, but that arrogant smirk pulled the corner of his mouth eventually.

“We’ll leave after the tourney.” He stood up straighter. “I’ll compete and I’ll win. We’ll need the coin.”

“Petyr can’t know who you are.”

“He won’t.” he assured her. “Do you want me to kill him before we leave?”

A few years ago, Sansa might have been shocked at his offer. Now, she thought about it carefully.

“His death would bring about more investigation.” She finally said. “We’ll have less trouble getting out of here if we leave him alive.”

“Aye.” He agreed a little reluctantly. “For the next few days, we can’t be seen together. Pack a small bag. Only important things. And if you have any coin or jewelry worth anything. I’ll take care of the rest and I’ll come for you the night after the tournament is over. Make sure you’re ready.”

“Yes.” She nodded, an excitement and nervousness fluttering in her belly. “I will be.”

She turned to leave, to go back into the great hall before Petyr realized she was missing, but Sandor caught her elbow and stopped her.

“What is it?” she asked once she was facing him again.

“My payment, little bird.” He reminded her. “I think I’ll collect now.”

Sansa almost smiled at that, even if she did feel a little sick from nerves. She pulled her arm free of his grasp, then took hold of his biceps as she stepped in closer to him.

“One kiss.” She whispered, going on toe as he leaned down towards her. She pressed her lips to his gently, feeling the soft texture of the unburnt side and the rough scratchiness of his scars. She held them for a second, startled at how different it felt from that last kiss, and then started to pull away. Sandor let her go back flat footed, but his face followed hers and before she could take a step back, both of his large hands were holding her head and he was kissing her again. Harder, more firmly. He forced her lips to move with his, making her interact instead of just receive, and her knees went a little weak when he licked the seam of her lips. She opened willingly to him, letting him in and mimicking what he was doing with his tongue with her own. It felt delicious and naughty and she took hold of his arms again to steady herself. When he pulled away at last, he bit her bottom lip before releasing it and standing up straight.

“Aye.” He nodded, rubbing her bottom lip with his thumb as he licked his own. “That’s damn good payment.”

“I should go.” She whispered hoarsely before stepping away from him, and this time he let her. “My fath…Petyr will be wondering where I am.” And then another thought occurred to her. She reached into her hair and pulled free the blue silk ribbon.

“Here.” She offered it to him. “My favor for you to wear during the tourney. You’ll have to conceal it so Petyr doesn’t see it. But I want you to wear it.”

“Bloody favors.” He complained, but took it all the same. “A sword with a ribbon on it.”

“Your sword with my ribbon on it.” She reminded him and thought she might have seen him smile a little as he looked down at the silk in his fingers.

“Two days, Sansa.” He reminded her, saying her name for what might have been the first time ever as he twined the ribbon around his fingers. “Two days and then we’re leaving.”

“I’ll be ready.” She assured him before heading back inside.

She was ready to leave, that much was true, but she wasn’t all that sure she was ready for what Sandor might want from her. That kiss, and her reaction to it, had shown her that she very well might be willing to give it to him.


End file.
